


Ner Mesh'la Tracinya

by kmandofan90



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Armorer gives you a nickname, F/F, Femslash, Light Dom/sub, No use of y/n, Public(ish) Sex, a bit of public fingering, inappropriate use of a gymnasium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmandofan90/pseuds/kmandofan90
Summary: Title translates to: My Beautiful FlameArmorer has not had companionship in a long time. And she has taken an interest in you.
Relationships: The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV)/Fem!Reader, The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 208





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just so you guys know, I thirst for Armorer the same way I thirst for Paz Vizla. My first attempt at writing fem x fem romance/sex.  
> ~4300 words

Din Dumbass Djarin dropped you off with his Tribe in the middle of the night without warning. To you, or to his family. After a very tense standoff where you tell them Din’s full name – the improvised middle one included – and withstand two hours of interrogation while someone tries to contact him, you are allowed to use one of the rooms. Din eventually responds, informing the Armorer that he has endangered you and the Imps know who you are. So, he is keeping you safe until the worst of the danger is over. Fortunately, you have useful skills, and you are put to work immediately.

Today marks your eleventh week with Din’s family. You had sneaked down to the laundry room earlier today and ‘borrowed’ one of Neten’s suits to work in. You figure he will not mind it, considering you caught him red-handed in the kitchen, stuffing caramel cookies up the front of his bucket. The same caramel cookies that Paz Vizla had brought back and warned everyone to _not touch_. 

You zip it up halfway and tie the sleeves around your waist. It’s hotter than the face of the sun, even indoors, and you don’t give a shit if anyone is offended by the sight of you walking around in a thin white tank-top and a man-sized extra-large flight suit. You then set to work in the workshop, trying to repair the environmental control panel so that the whole ‘hotter than the face of the sun’ problem will go away.

It does not take you long to figure out that the problem doesn’t involve the panel. Listening carefully, you realize that you cannot even hear the fan spinning, even with the power on. That explains why the air is not moving. You let out a huff as you look up at the square grill, well above your head.

Grabbing a ladder, you go unscrew the screws and place them into the cup on the table. Then you grab your bag, push it into the gaping maw, and sort of wriggle up the sloped incline, using your hands and feet to push yourself along. Whoever decided to put the fan this far back into the vent should be dragged out in public and pelted with tomatoes, you think grumpily to yourself.

You _just barely_ fit into the dusty, narrow space. It takes a minute or so to wriggle your way to the fan, where you start testing the connectors. Once you have located the faulty connectors, you yank them out and replace them. As you solder the last connector into place, your feet slip a bit on the incline.

You shuffle yourself forward again to reattach it to the power source. For a single gut-wrenching second, nothing happens. Then the fan slowly starts to spin, spluttering, before it finally chugs up to speed. Thank the fucking spirits. The cold breeze causes a wave of goosebumps to break out across your sweat-slick skin. With that task finished, you begin to wriggle your way back out. When your back half exits the vent, you try to feel around for the top rung of the ladder.

You feel it…and promptly knock it over.

Shit.

The ladder hits the ground with a loud crash. You let out a little puff of air to get the hair off your face and try to figure out what you are going to do next. It’s a bit of a drop to the ground and you don’t want to risk spraining your ankle. Unfortunately, the metal beneath you is dusty, and you start to slip out. You let out a screech.

Two hands clamp around your hips as you fall out completely, landing on the person behind you. They let out a surprised grunt as they catch you, their arms wrapping around you. The two of you stumble back a bit, but the strong person behind you keeps you both on your feet.

“T-thank you,” you say, turning to your savior.

“Perhaps you should secure your ladder next time,” Armorer says, her helmet tilting down at you.

You swallow, noting that her arm is still wrapped around your waist. _Fuck_ , she is so much stronger than she looks. Absently, you rest your hands on her chest plate, feeling the warmth of the _bes’kar_ under your fingertips. For some reason, your heart begins to pound, and heat begins to blossom everywhere. You try to speak, but all you can manage is some sort of pathetic stuttering noise. After a second, she lets go of you, and you take a half-step back.

“Th-thanks,” you manage to say, somewhat coherently once you can manage to breathe.

Swallowing, you take a second to center yourself. Calm, collected, and definitely not soaking wet just from that simple touch. Ignoring that damp heat in your panties, you force yourself to focus on your work.

“Well, the environmental controls are fixed now,” you say in what you hope is a cheerful tone. “Is there anything else that I can help with today?”

You note that her helmet tilts down again.

“The environmental controls in the _karyai_ seem to be damaged as well,” she says. “I must ask – why are you wearing Neten’s suit?”

You let a devious smile cross your face.

“He won’t mind,” you say.

“Why is that?”

“He’s the one who ate all of Big Blue’s cookies,” you say. “Paz already knows, but…he is waiting for the right time to bring it up.”

Armorer sighs.

“I assume you will be taking full advantage?”

“I will wash everything and put it back once I am finished,” you say. “If Neten can’t take a bit of playful blackmail, I don’t think he can withstand what Paz is going to do to him.”

She nods once at you. When she leaves, you wonder why she had come here in the first place. Shaking your head, you clear the thoughts away, and head down to the _karyai_. There, you find the two vents she had been referring to. One has the same problem as the one in the workshop, so you repair it quickly. The second control panel has burnt out completely.

You scavenge what parts you can from the workshop, finding a few extra chips and connectors. Unfortunately, it is not enough to repair the second unit. You sigh and write a note for one of the hunters to bring back a new condensation coil for it. On second thought, you add a detailed drawing with precise measurements. Some of the hunters are not the best at paying attention to certain things, and you do not want to wait for a third (or fourth) trip out when they invariably fuck it up.

At the end of the day, you are beyond exhausted. Your body is covered in a fine layer of dust, grease, and whatever the hell had been accumulating in the vents. After a hot shower, you go back to the _karyai_ to continue helping around the place. Even when the workday is over, there is always plenty of work to be done. There are always children in need of care – and you are always happy to offer a tired parent a few minutes of respite.

As soon as you come into view, you are swarmed by five of the younger ones, and you let them cuddle into your side, giving each one a bit of attention and affection. Then, mischief fills you as you kneel in the group of children. Slyly, you start handing out very small pieces of candy. The older children immediately sense the presence of sweets and come to grab a piece for themselves.

Then Armorer comes to investigate. The children scatter like cockroaches, their treats secured in pockets or mouths. Rising to your feet, you reach into your _other_ pocket and bring out the good candy. You offer her one of your last chocolates with a sheepish grin. Armorer takes it, much to your surprise, and puts it away.

-

-

-

_A few days later..._

Armorer finishes putting her tools away. Her shoulders ache, but in the pleasant way that results from hard labor. She banks the flames to keep the Forge at operating temperature. After collecting her toiletries, she heads to the locker room. As she passes by the workshop, she hears a faint strain of music. It is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, with a strong drum beat and lilting string instrumentals. She steps inside to investigate. At the far end of the room, just out of sight of the doorway, she sees you by one of the reflective cabinets.

Not standing, but dancing.

You are dancing quite skillfully. Armorer feels her mouth go dry when she sees the way your supple body twists and undulates to the soft music playing. She often thinks back to that morning when she caught you. She had not been expecting to see your nipples straining at the fabric of your shirt, nor the way you flushed at her touch and your pupils dilated. She lingered, simply enjoying the way you stuttered. Armorer continues watching, a coil of heat in her belly, as your breasts and ass bounce with each movement.

“See something you like, Armorer?” comes a voice from behind her.

She _almost_ twitches.

“Sneak up on me again and I will put my hammer through your thick skull,” she says flatly to Paz.

The older man snorts. He leans in.

“She’s cute,” Paz whispers dramatically. “You sure you can handle a little spitfire like her?”

She only has to look at him. He chortles and nudges her with his shoulder, a show of companionship and support.

“Good luck,” Paz says.

“A good hunter does not need _luck_ ,” she responds.

Paz snorts. Armorer ignores him and turns back to you. You are still dancing, though slower than before. It has been far too long since she has had a companion to share herself with.

-

-

-

The next evening, you find yourself finished early. So, rather than laze around and watch some silly soap opera in the _karyai_ with Revala, you decide to go blow off some steam. You put on your athletic clothes – all elastic and snug so you don’t get caught up in anything – and put your hair up in a braid. You bypass the few machines and head toward the back rooms where people spar. Selfishly, you decide to take over one of the private rooms so you can stretch and do your yoga routine. If you fall over, at least you will have privacy for your humiliation.

“Do you wish to be alone?” a voice asks from the doorway.

“No,” you say to Armorer as you lift your head. “There’s plenty of space for both of us.”

You notice immediately that her helmet is very different than the one she normally wears. It is the same color and has similar features. However, it looks shorter. As she moves, you can see that it reveals most of her cowl. Ah, it lets her move her head without running the risk of dislodging her helmet and compromising what she can see. The one she wears in the Foundry probably functions for more protection against the intense heat of the flames.

“Do you wish to know something?”

You mull over it.

“Nah, it’s a stupid question.”

“Remember the company I keep,” she remarks casually.

You are unable to hold back your snort of laughter. Earlier in the day, you overheard her speaking with Hannah, the cook.

_Hunters are not known for their intelligence, Hannah. That is why we must also childproof the top cabinets._

“It’s about your helmet, which is why I held back,” you say quietly.

There are a few moments of silence before she tilts her head. You assume it’s an invitation.

“Is your other helmet ceremonial, or does it offer more protection from the heat?”

“Both,” she says.

You nod. You want to ask more questions, but you figure you would be pushing your luck if you did. You want to spend time with her, not piss her off.

“Would you like to spar?” she asks.

“Sure,” you say. “I will do my best.”

You get to your feet and stretch your arms a bit more. She comes to a halt in front of you, dropping into her fighting stance.

You take a moment to size her up. She is taller than you and outweighs you by a small amount. Armorer spends most of her time in the Foundry, so she has some serious muscles. Not only that, she is a Mandalorian. She has been raised since her childhood to fight people (or so you assume). From what you can gather, Armorer has years of experience on you. You are outclassed in every single way, you think to yourself, as you match each of her footsteps, circling one another.

The _only_ think you can hope to do is to try and outlast her, wait until she is tired, and then try to take her by surprise. They have no idea you are a somewhat-capable combatant. That was one thing Din had made sure of – he drilled you as hard as he could as often as he could. He wanted you able to protect yourself and the kid when he was gone. So, that was your only hope at this point.

She makes the first blow. Armorer is holding back, but it still hurts. You wince.

“If you would move out of the way in time, it will not hurt,” she remarks easily.

You dodge the second one and jab at her with your left fist. You are pretending that you are less skilled than you are. She twists out of the way. She hits you again. You try to return it with several quick strikes. None of them meet their target. When you can see that Armorer is slowing down, you decide to make your move.

With her next punch, you grab her by the arm and pull, flipping her over your hip and sending her sprawling. You surge forward onto her, trying to pin her down. Panting, you manage to get onto her legs, but she is _fast_. And holy shit, she is fucking _strong._ She easily rolls you onto your back, even as you are trying to pin her down with your full weight. As she moves to kneel above you, you grab her foot and pull it out from under her, sending her careening onto the ground.

You thank Cara for teaching you that move. Stubbornly, you try to get up, but Armorer decides to end the fight. With one hard shove, she sends you careening onto your front, knocking the wind out of you. You flail for a moment. Then she settles onto you, straddling your thighs as she presses you down into the mat. Her weight on you sends your blood pressure and pulse through the stratosphere.

You try to elbow her, but she slams your arm down into the mat, just barely missing your ear. She catches your other hand and pins it between the two of you, right at the small of your back. You try to roll onto your side, but she holds you down, resting more of her weight onto you to keep you on the ground.

“Recall that I am a hunter. I know when my prey is attempting to deceive me,” she drawls out. “You cannot escape.”

“Yes, I can,” you insist.

“You may try,” she says mildly.

You tilt your head and bite her, hard enough for her to feel your teeth through her thick glove, but not hard enough to cause concern. She smells like spicy smoke and leather, you think to yourself. She inhales sharply in response.

“How uncivilized,” she murmurs.

“Madame Armorer, may I remind you of how many orifices you have threatened to shove your boot into today?” you ask saucily, wriggling as you test her hold on you.

She, of course, does not budge. When her fingers tighten in warning around your wrists, you go quite still, and Armorer leans forward. You almost moan when you feel the firm press of her breasts against your back. Fortunately, you manage to stifle it before you embarrass yourself any further than you already have.

“Stop struggling,” she purrs. “You are helpless here.”

You want so badly to arch against her, to feel more of her strong body against yours. Arousal begins to thread through you, filling your veins with molten lava. It courses deep into your core, leaving you aching and throbbing between the legs.

“Do you wish to submit, little kitten?”

_Oh, sweet merciful gods_.

The fight leaves you as your brain promptly short-circuits. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Right now, you are on the verge of begging her to fuck you, to do whatever she pleases with your body. All you want is her _touch_ , her hands against you, mapping out every square inch of your body. As she shifts, you let out a little noise, one that she _definitely_ hears.

“Say it,” she says in a coaxing sort of tone. “I want to hear it.”

You inhale shakily.

“Yes, Armorer,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I – I submit. T-to you.”

She lets out a little purr of pleasure and releases your wrists.

“If you move without my permission, your punishment will be severe,” she says briskly. Then, as if reading your mind, she adds, “I have a paddle, and I will not hesitate to turn you over my knee.”

You let out a squeak.

“I _will not_ tolerate disobedience. I trust you will behave?”

“Yes,” you nod solemnly. “I will behave.”

“Good girl. On your back.”

You obey. She lowers herself next to you, resting her weight on one elbow, looking every bit like a lioness about to pounce. You lick your lips and swallow, letting your eyes trace over the lines of her helmet. Her hand finds your neck, her fingers skimming over your pulse. Obediently, you lay there, hands by your sides as she continues her exploration down to your collarbones and sternum.

“So soft,” she remarks, as she squeezes your breast firmly.

Her thumb brushes against your nipple. You _almost_ arch your back to follow the warmth of her hand. Remembering her threat, you just barely restrain yourself.

“Good girl,” she croons.

A little mewl escapes you as she continues her slow trail downward, her hand pausing on your ribcage. Then dipping down to your waist, making you squeal and twitch as her fingers tighten there. She stops moving, her helmet tilting down a bit. Biting down on your lip, you lay there, your entire body trembling as her hand remains at your waist.

She gives you a few seconds before she skims her palm along your belly. Bypassing your mound, she cups your hip and squeezes firmly, forcing a stuttering sigh from between your bruised lips. By now, your breath is coming in tiny gasps and your panties are soaked through, your cunt clenching wantonly.

Slowly, torturously, Armorer makes her way back up, dragging your shirt up to reveal your sports bra. Hooking her fingers under the band, she eases the elastic up and over your breasts, freeing them from the confines of the fabric. She lets out a low hum of satisfaction. Her hand rises to your lips.

“Take my glove off.”

You reach up.

“Use your teeth,” she says.

You nod in understanding. Locking eyes with her visor, you grasp her elbow gently, and lift your head. You gently bite down on the tip of the index finger. One by one, you slowly work her glove off. Then you pause.

“Do you want me to take it off completely?” you ask.

“Close your eyes,” she says.

You obey once more, closing your eyes as you remove it completely. Mischievously, you lean up and press a quick kiss to her finger, earning yourself a soft sigh. Emboldened by her pleasure, you skim your lips along her palm, pressing little kisses against her calloused skin until you find her thumb, relishing in each intoxicating sigh she gives you. Smiling, you part your lips and gently nibble along the side of her digit. She inhales and pulls away. You let out a mewl of disappointment.

“You disobeyed me,” she says.

You sulk.

“I will be lenient,” she murmurs. “There will be time for you to learn your place.”

Her hand returns to your chest. She cups your breast. The feeling of her bare skin against yours sends a jolt through you, leaving you feeling dizzy and starved for air. She tweaks your nipple, humming as a sob catches in your throat. Swiftly, she treats your other breast to the same delightful torture, wrenching a full moan from you this time.

Her fingers slip under your waistband. When her fingers find your aching, throbbing clit, you whimper, your hips trembling as you struggle to stay still. Her promise of discipline fascinates you, but you need release more than anything else. Armorer traps your clit between her fingers and squeezes. This time, you are unable to hold back. You cry out sharply as you press your knees together. That knot in your belly is so tight it _hurts_.

“There we are,” she breathes. “Keep making those pretty noises for me, kitten.”

She strokes long, slow, lazy circles around your pearl, wrenching sobs from your throat as she so very slowly works you to the edge. Then she slides further down, tracing around your entrance. Without warning, she slides one finger into your aching, yearning center. You keen as your entire body twitches, your walls tightening around her still finger.

Armorer presses her forehead to yours. You can feel her breath against your cheeks. Automatically, you turn your head and press your lips to her helmet. She laughs, deep and low in her throat.

“Would you like to kiss me?” she asks. Then her voice lowers, growing huskier. “Press your lips to mine? _Taste_ me?”

“Please,” you choke out.

“I thought I would have to work harder to teach you your manners, kitten.”

You whine as she presses a second finger into you and curls them, pressing directly into something that makes you see stars and your back arch. When you’ve come back down, she continues her languid pace.

“So pliant,” she murmurs. “So _submissive_. Tell me, do you enjoy being told what to do?”

“O-only - you,” you manage to stutter out, as her fingers curl inside of you again.

She hums with pleasure as you tighten around her. Whimpering, you turn to nuzzle her helmet.

“P-please – can I – touch you?” you whimper up at her.

“How could I tell you no?” she asks. “Touch me, kitten.”

You let out a warble of happiness as you finally reach up, touching her arm and hand. Up her arm, to her shoulder. You explore her body, touching the parts of her that you can reach. Sweetly, you kiss her helmet again, pressing your forehead to hers, knowing that it means _something_ to Mandalorians.

She slides a third finger into you, and the knot in your belly begins to unravel. You pant softly against her visor, keening quietly as you spiral closer and closer to orgasm. When you start to reach that peak, you grasp at her, burying your face into shoulder as you sob, your entire body rising up to meet her hand. A white light goes off behind your eyelids as your orgasm strikes, as quick and hot as a bolt of lightning. She continues her pace, prolonging your orgasm, until your body is limp and shaking next to hers. She leaves her fingers inside of you, your walls occasionally tightening around her.

“You did so well, kitten,” she croons.

You dare to press a kiss to her shoulder, tightening your hand possessively around her.

_“Ner mesh’la tracinya_ ,” you whisper to her. _My beautiful flame_.

She inhales sharply.

“You have been listening in on lessons,” she murmurs.

“I want to please you,” you breathe up to her. “More than anything else…”

“You have pleased me so very well.”

She slides her fingers out of you. Blindly, you reach out, grasping her wrist with your hands. Then you gently pull her hand to your mouth and start cleaning her off, lapping up the evidence of your pleasure with short flicks of your tongue. Then you suck each finger into your mouth to ensure it is clean enough to be put back into her glove. Patting the ground by your side, you find her glove, and slowly put it back onto her hand, working it down until she is completely covered once more.

“Can I open my eyes now, please?” you ask.

“Yes, kitten,” she says, her voice a bit strained. “Open your eyes.”

You open your eyes and smile at her. Languidly, you stretch out next to her and continue your slow exploration, wondering if she will let you return the favor. She swallows and pulls back. Before she can speak, you bite down on your lower lip, and let your hand fall to her hip.

“You know,” you say. “I’m finished with all my work today…and _you_ seem to be finished with all your work, too…”

_Fuck_ , she’s got a nice ass, you think to yourself, as you steal a quick grope of her backside.

“…I don’t think anyone would be upset if _Alor_ took some time to rest,” you say sweetly.

“Why do I suspect you have indecent intentions toward me?” she asks.

“I am afraid my intentions are depraved,” you say. “I might even wish to debauch you, Armorer.”

She laughs, a rich, warm sound that sends shivers all the way down to your toes.

“Kitten, you know _nothing_ of debauchery,” she responds.

You sulk.

“I do too,” you insist.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “Very well. We will retire for the evening.”

She easily gets to her feet. You take her hand and she hauls you up with what seems to be no effort at all. The two of you head out toward the locker room, a thrill filling you at the promise of a night spent in her arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2777  
> Warnings: PWP, vaginal sex, oral (fem receiving), use of a dildo  
> Author’s Notes: I’d like to give @huliabitch on Tumblr for helping me figure out how to make a moodboard!! Thank you so much for helping me and offering such wonderful advice. ❤️❤️❤️

In Armorer’s room, you wear only a tank top over your laciest undergarments as you prepare for the evening. Boldly, you make yourself at home, sitting down in front of the mirror she has propped up against the wall. It is quite small, so you assume she only uses it to put her hair up in the mornings before putting on her armor. As you are brushing your hair into two braids, Armorer steps in, her toiletry basket in one hand and a bag of dirty clothes in the other. You greet her as you shake your hair back over your shoulder.

“How are the hunters handling the lack of supervision?” you ask innocently.

She sighs as she puts her things down – it is a noise filled with resignation and disappointment.

“I told them I was not to be disturbed for any reason,” Armorer says. “If they destroy anything, it had better be replaced before I find out. Perhaps I should have drawn pictures for them.”

Her last remark was delivered in such a dry, deadpan tone that you can’t help but to burst into laughter.

“What an enticing sight,” she murmurs.

Suddenly, she is standing right behind you. Liquid heat fills you once more as you note how close she is, looming over you. You swallow as you stand up. She pulls you toward her with one hand at your waist, pressing her visor against your forehead. Giving her a saucy grin, you slide your hands down to her firm, round ass and squeeze.

“Now, kitten,” she purrs. “I believe you mentioned debauchery?”

You blush vividly as her hands slowly rise from your waist, following the curve of your spine as she lifts your tank top. Lifting your arms, you help her remove the thin white cloth, and watch as her helmet tilts down toward your breasts. Your nipples are hard and aching for her attention, straining against your matching lace bra.

“Lovely,” she says. “I want you bent forward over the bed.”

You move toward the bed and lean over, resting your elbows on the surprisingly soft blanket spread across the mattress.

“Like this?” you ask over your shoulder.

Her response is to turn the lights off, leaving you standing in the darkness, straining to hear the faint sounds of her feet on the ground. Electricity arcs through you - she is your hunter, and you are her prey.

“Your heartrate has increased significantly,” she murmurs. “Anticipation, or arousal?”

You swallow and stare straight ahead, gnawing on your lower lip.

“Both?”

She hums as she moves around the room. You hear a thump and a scrape. Then the faintest squeak reaches your ears. You think it might be from the chest in the corner. You strain to listen, but you cannot tell what she is doing. Armorer closes the lid of that chest and pushes it back to where it was before. You hear a gentle clinking as she puts her object down on the bed.

“I thought you would be more inquisitive about my plans for you,” she remarks.

“You didn’t say I could?” you squeak out.

“You are normally more combative and spirited than this,” Armorer murmurs.

You blink.

“Is that a nicer way of saying that I’m a brat?” you ask.

She huffs in amusement.

“Indeed, it is,” she purrs. “Who knew that all it would take to have your complete submission were a few stern words?”

“Being a brat doesn’t get my pussy fingered,” you retort, unable to hold it back.

“Smart girl,” she responds, making you grin in response.

You can _feel_ her coming back toward you. Once more, you feel helpless to do anything but wait for her to make her move. Armorer hooks her fingers on the sides of your panties and slowly inches them down. Shivering, you note that her hands are bare once more, sending another wave of tingling goosebumps across you.

Obediently, you step out of your panties.

“There we go,” she says. “Such a lovely sight.”

You swallow as you hear the helmet come off. You feel her set it down next to you.

“So, if I decide to start making faces at you,” you start to say with a grin.

She swats your ass lightly.

“I have excellent night vision,” she warns.

You giggle.

Armorer runs her hands from your shoulders down your sides to your hips, her fingers mapping your curves. Your breath hitches as she leans in and kisses the small of your back, leaving little bites on the way down to the seam where your ass and thigh meet. Whining, you tighten your fists in the bedding, praying that she’ll mark every other part of you, too.

She presses her lips to your core before inhaling.

“You did not let me taste you earlier today.”

“I didn’t want your gloves to get messy,” you say, trying so desperately to not shift impatiently as she kneels behind you.

“Were you being considerate, or were you trying to endear yourself to me?” she asks.

“Ahh…both?”

“Brat,” she murmurs, placing both hands firmly on your thighs.

Using her thumbs, she spreads you apart, baring your most intimate parts to her eyes. Hot mortification fills you at the noise of delight she lets out, blushing until you feel it creep down to your breasts. You bite down on the sheets as Armorer leans in. You can feel her breath fanning across you as she places a single kiss against your swollen labia, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure coursing through your belly.

She takes her time, methodically exploring every part of your lower half with little licks and kisses. Occasionally, she stops to leave behind a little nibble, but she never stops on those aching, wanting parts of you. You keen and writhe, even as you struggle to stay still, heaving pants escaping you as tears spring to your eyes.

Finally, after what seems to be hours of sweet torture, she presses a single kiss to your clit, wrenching a hoarse whimper from your throat. Then she licks a long, slow ribbon from your pearl to your clenching core, the warmth of her mouth stealing your breath from you. Drawing back, she does it again and again, until you are straining against her mouth, pitiful little noises escaping you.

“Please,” you squeak out.

She pulls away.

“What is it, kitten?” she asks, feigning concern.

 _“Please_ ,” you beg quietly.

“You’ll need to use your words,” she says.

“More – I need more, please – just…I just want – your lips.”

“I am afraid I do not know what you mean by that.”

You can hear the devious edge in her voice.

“Please don’t tease me,” you sniffle.

She strokes a single finger up the back of your leg, drawing another half-sob from you as she bypasses those parts of you begging for her attention.

“Kitten, I am not teasing you. I want to enjoy every part of you,” she says in a gentle, soothing tone. “Can you hold on a little longer for me?”

You take a deep, shuddering breath.

“I-I’ll try,” you whisper, biting down on your lower lip, as the tears finally spill down your cheeks.

She leans in again and resumes her achingly slow pace, working her way up to your pussy. There, she traces around your entrance with the tip of her tongue before pressing her inward. You feel your eyes roll back and your back arch as she presses deeper, her tongue working to map every little ridge and bump of your innermost walls.

White hot fire ignites, sharp and electrifying, surging higher with each press of her tongue into you. Low sobs escape you, your body writhing. When her thumb finds your clit, you shriek, biting down on the blanket to muffle it. Briefly, she pulls away.

“Come for me, kitten,” she says, before surging forward.

She laps her tongue aggressively at your clit as her free hand clamps around your thigh to pin you in place. The sensation of her fingertips digging into you hard enough to bruise sends you over the edge. Your body seizes as you come, languid heat spreading through you as your walls clench hungrily around nothing. Once the ringing in your ears stops, you find yourself sprawled face-down on the bed, limp and boneless with pleasure. Armorer is still slowly lapping at you as you struggle to catch your breath.

“May I continue?” she asks.

“Y-yes, please,” you whisper.

You hear the sounds of her moving around, a little clinking, and some shuffling? You stay where you are, waiting for her to do something, her threat from earlier patently clear. You figure you can be a brat with her later. She stands behind you, her hands at your waist, sliding up toward your shoulders.

“Take that off,” she says.

Obediently, you slide the bra off, baring yourself completely. She runs her fingers down your spine, occasionally stopping to torture you with a bit of tickling. You giggle as her hands settle into the dip of your waist.

“How do you feel about penetration?” she asks.

“Sure, I’m fine with that.”

“Good,” she responds.

Before you can speak up, you feel something cool and firm pressing into your cunt. It has been a long time since you had anything bigger than your fingers in there, so your walls are already trembling in anticipation. She’s all slicked up, so she sinks in with short, gentle thrusts until you can feel her leather harness pressing up against your ass.

“Good girl,” she says.

She leans in, resting inside of you, pressing hot open-mouth kisses along your shoulders and spine, one hand under you to cup your tits and pinch your sensitive peaks. As she shifts a bit inside you, your hypersensitive walls tighten hungrily.

“Please,” you say in a small voice.

“Please what, kitten?” she murmurs. “Would you like me to move?”

“Uh, that too,” you say. “Mmm..Please…uhm…mark me?”

“Where do you wish to bear my marks, kitten?”

“Ah… _anywhere,_ ” you whisper. “I want everyone to know…I-I’m _yours_.”

You hear a quiet inhalation from her, then a low noise of delight. She starts a slow, deep rolling pace inside you, hitting every spot that makes your toes curl and your knees go weak. Armorer traces her fingers along your spine, as delicately as a butterfly’s touch, sending prickles of gooseflesh racing across your entire back. You rock your hips back against hers, moaning as she quickens her pace, spreading you wide open with each thrust into your pliant body.

One hand snakes around your waist to your front. Then she dips down toward your mound, where she cups you for a moment and squeezes. Your knees start to quake as her fingers expertly circle your hypersensitive pearl. Her other hand rises to your throat and tightens gently, guiding you back.

“Be aware, kitten, that I do not share what is mine,” she whispers into your ear, her voice velvety and smooth. “I am a possessive woman.”

“Yours,” you blurt out, unable to hold back. “I-I – I’m yours – “

She squeezes around your throat again.

“Are you?” she asks softly. “Mine, and only mine?”

“Only yours, _cyar’ika_ ,” you whimper out. “C-Couldn’t l-look at anyone else but you – ever ag-again – “

She hums in response, her fingertips lightly tickling along your sternum before reaching for your breast again. She pinches just as her mouth finds your neck. Armorer sucks you into her mouth, biting just hard enough to make your breath hitch in your throat. She draws back just far enough for her teeth to find your earlobe. A pathetic mewling noise escapes you, tears springing to your eyes at the pain.

“ _Please_ ,” you beg softly. “I am _yours_.”

Unthinkingly, you reach up to lace your fingers through hers, and squeeze. She hums again, pressing a quick kiss to that spot just behind your ear, that one ticklish place that makes you sigh. Her hips roll against yours, her length finding that sweet spot inside you, wrenching throaty moans from you with each thrust. With the next swipe of her fingers against your clit, you finally start to peak. 

_Fuck_ , she feels so damn good inside of you, reaching every single aching, needy, wanting part of you, filling you to the very brim. The knot inside you breaks, like magma engulfing you and swallowing you whole. You make to cover your mouth to muffle your cries of pleasure, but Armorer stops you, keeping your hand clamped against your belly.

Your eyes close involuntarily, your entire body shaking as you come, riding the waves of pleasure as they engulf you entirely. After what feels like minutes, you start to drift down from your high, your body heated and flushed, as Armorer quite literally holds you up against her chest. She places a kiss against your neck as you regain some semblance of control over yourself.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asks in a smug, self-satisfied tone.

You make an attempt to speak, but the words come out in an incoherent rush. Soft whines escape you as she pulls out slowly, making sure you can feel the pronounced ridge on the toy. She stays behind you, her front pressed against your back, her hands kneading along your back and sides, until you are able to stand up on your own.

“That,” you say drowsily. “Was the best orgasm of my life.”

She makes a noise of amusement. You turn in her arms and lean in, pausing to let her decide if she wants to kiss you. Armorer leans in, her breath fanning across your lips, and you turn your face up, closing your eyes. Her lips are warm and soft, and as you suck her lower lip between yours, you taste yourself. Tracing your tongue along her plump lower lip, you deepen the kiss, slowly trailing your fingers up to her jaw. Round, oddly delicate. Then you trace your thumbs up to her cheeks. Angular and sharp. Soft curls frame her face. She leans her forehead against yours in a Mandalorian kiss, her breathing heavy.

“Do you wish to know what I look like?” she asks casually.

“Hmm? Just touching every part of you I can,” you respond. “As curious as I am, I know there are boundaries I cannot cross.”

She hums in response.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter,” you say, pressing your nose against hers.

“Why do you say that?” she asks.

“I already know all I need to know about you,” you whisper softly, shyly.

“And what do you know about me?”

“You’re skilled, driven, intelligent,” you say, closing your eyes. “Honest, empathetic, considerate.” You take her silence as an invitation to continue. “Always the first to rise and the last to retire. You’re one of the hardest working people here. Always learning, always encouraging everyone to improve. A damn good leader, always doing whatever it takes to protect and guide us.” Her hands continue to stroke your arms and back, tracing little circles. “You are gentle with the vulnerable. You are firm with those who need it. I’ve never felt judged by you. I have only ever felt safe with you.”

You trail off, flushing at just how personal you had gotten there in the end. You can sense she’s thinking about what you’ve said. Before she can respond, you lean in and press your lips against hers. You draw back with an impish smile.

“You also make the best damn dumplings I have ever had in my life,” you say, earning a low laugh from her. “That alone puts you at the top of my list of favorite people.”

Your laughter dies down after a few moments and the two of you fall into a companionable silence. As she presses her forehead to yours again, her hair falls forward, tickling against your cheeks. Through her soft, sweet shampoo, you can smell the rich smoke from the forge and the muskiness of leather.

“Can we cuddle in bed?” you ask softly.

“I would like that,” she responds, her voice just as soft.

You climb onto the bed. She follows, drawing up the thin sheet around her waist. You turn onto your side, resting your head in your hand, as you reach out. You find her breast on the first attempt and grin, stroking her.

“You asked to cuddle,” she says accusatorily, but she makes no move to stop you.

“Oops,” you say. Then, in your sauciest tone, “So, you were saying something about debauchery?”

“Where were we?” she asks, twisting up onto her side, her hand falling to your hip.

Her lips fall to yours, and all thoughts of cuddling dissipate.


End file.
